Boy
by KatDancer2
Summary: At Redcliffe Castle, Alistair the stable boy finds a friend in Lynet, the daughter of a laundress. Can they drive off trouble with the power of their sparkling whites? (A tale of young Alistair.)
1. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

"It's just not _right_, Mama…."

"You hush, Lynet, and mind your place," her mama said briskly as she scrubbed the linens in a tub with a washboard. "It's not for you to decide what's right and what's not."

"Mama," Lynet said, using a long stick to pull the tablecloth out of the tub and transport it across the steamy laundry room to where another laundress was running things through a mangle, "Would _you_ ever make _me_ sleep out in the stable?"

Alma sighed. Her little bird always asked the most difficult questions. Lynet had, of course, hit it right on the head, so she tried to distract the girl witha joke. "You're _much_ too small for the stables, pet. Why, those horses would munch you up with their oats and never notice!"

"Boy is smaller than _me_," Lynet said, looking up with huge green eyes.

Ahhhh, no. Alma could never bear it when Lynet turned those big sad eyes on her. Reminded her all too much of Lynet's dad – dead these three years after trying to do the right thing and protect a farm girl from some bandits.

Lynet got more than those eyes from her father, she did. Alma hoped it wouldn't end the same way.

She sighed. There wasn't much she could give her daughter in life, other than clean clothes, a roof over her head, a warm bed, and enough food, and so the girl hardly ever _asked_ for anything. But here she was, her eyes big and sad with mute appeal. Like as not, she'd regret this – but she couldn't bear the look in her daughter's eyes.

"Now_, don't_ you be getting all underfoot in the stables," Alma started scolding, although both she and Lynet knew she wasn't truly angry. "You make sure to ask the stable master _polite_, you hear me, before you ever approach your little friend. If the stable master says aye, _then_ you invite Boy to have supper with us. No point in hurting the lad by dangling something in front of him that he can't have."

Lynet grinned, coming back to the tub to pull out a pillowcase with her pole to take to the mangle. "Oh, Mama, thank you." Once she'd negotiated getting the wet cloth safely across the laundry (though she hardly ever dropped anymore, she was a big girl of seven!) she'd run back to hug and kiss her mother.

"Ahhhh, off with you," her mother said in pretended annoyance, giving the girl a quick kiss on her brown hair. "Remember your manners!"

* * *

Boy was sitting in the hayloft, his feet dangling over the edge as he watched what was going on below.

He'd had a hard day's work already – carrying water, forking hay into stalls… at eight, he wasn't even big enough to curry the horses yet. But the stable master had ruffled his hair, told him to go get washed up and find a place to rest – he'd done all his chores. And so Boy had washed quickly in the shallows of the river, scrubbed his clothes best he could, and let them hang, drying, from a tree branch as he had lain dozing in the sun until boy and clothes were dry again.

There was that girl again.

She was a bit bigger than him, and wore her hair in two tightly braided plaits on either side of her head. Enormous green eyes were framed in a sturdy, round face with a healthy flush on the cheeks. She was sturdy the way servants and their children were, made so by hard work.

Boy was more than fairly sure she could best him in a fight, if she cared to fight him. He'd seen her knock down a village boy who'd been throwing stones at a cat. When the boy had jumped up and hit her, she'd blacked his eye for him and sent him howling for his mama.

She was standing in the doorway to the stable, peering into the darkness. It was hard to see, when you'd just come in from outside – the danger of fire was too great to keep lanterns burning inside. He wondered why she was here – as far as he knew, her place was in the laundry.

"Boy?" she called quietly.

Hazel eyes scrunched up in thought as he regarded her from his perch. What could she want with him, he wondered. Maybe he was in trouble – maybe someone from the castle had seen him stretched out naked at the riverside, thought he was loafing – maybe they were going to send him away, just as he'd been sent from the castle to the stables, and he was going to have to find some way to feed himself and get shelter for himself…

She stepped into the stable now, peering left and right into the loose stalls. He could hear the horses nickering restlessly at this new scent, this new person who did not belong, and with a sigh, he clambered down the ladder to meet her. Best get it over with. "I'm here."

She turned, and smiled.

Boy stopped dead. No one smiled at him – not the way she had. It was a pretty smile, for all that one of her front teeth was chipped – a warm smile that went all the way to those huge green eyes. He wasn't sure if that meant she was happy because she was here to do something nice, or because she was happy because he was getting into trouble.

The other boys smiled when he was getting into trouble.

"Boy, Mama said – that is, if you want to – Mama said you could have supper with us."

He considered this gravely. He'd already had some good black bread, an egg, and a slice of meat for his afternoon meal, but there was no question that he was still hungry. Working in the stable was hard work, and he never felt he had enough to eat.

"Oh… okay." He shook himself. _Manners_, he thought. "I mean, _thank you_. That's… very kind. I would… I would be very pleased to join you."

Had she been smiling before? He thought she had, but the grin she showed him now blew _that_ one away as if it had never existed.

He must have been standing there, dumbstruck, because she giggled and ran to him, taking him by the hand.

Nobody had held his hand before. He looked at her in a mixture of surprise and… well. He felt his mouth stretching in a grin that felt like it might split his face.

"Come on,"she urged, with a little tug to get him started. "Your master told me you could come, I asked polite, like mama said."

He let himself be led by this strange girl. She was a little taller than he was, and he just knew that she could beat him in a fight, even as he knew she never _would_.

"I'm Lynet," she said, as she led him to the small cottage near the walls of the castle.

He paused at the door, wondering at this new experience, being asked to supper with a real family. The door opened, and a woman came out, smiling, wiping her hands on a flour-sack cloth.

"Everyone calls me Boy," he murmured with embarrassment, "but my real name is Alistair."

Lynet gave his fingers a comforting squeeze as she drew him closer to her Mama. "Join us, Alistair."


	2. A Cozy Home

Lynet led Alistair straight to the smiling woman. "Mama, this is Alistair."

"I'm pleased to meet you, ma'am," he said gravely.

The woman ruffled his hair gently. Alistair wasn't sure he liked that - but she was smiling, and she urged him towards the door with a light nudge. "Be welcome, lad. Lynet, you two make sure you wash up good before you come to table."

Lynet took Alistair in and poured some water into a basin. "Mama is a fiend for washing up," she said wistfully.

"I don't mind," he said shyly, as he followed her in carefully washing his hands. He was glad he'd bathed and cleaned his clothes earlier – at least he didn't smell of horse.

When Lynet and he slid behind the table on a large bench, he noticed that her mother was ladling out a thick stew, mostly potatoes and onions and carrots, but with a bit of meat in it. There was also a huge loaf of bread in a bowl in the middle of the table, and three mugs. Without thinking, he asked, "Aren't we waiting for your father? Or is he away on the Arl's business?"

Lynet flinched, and she looked down into her bowl, her smile snuffed as quickly as a candle being blown out. "I haven't got one," she said quietly. For a moment, it was on the tip of Alistair's tongue to tell her it didn't matter, he didn't know his father either, but then a large bowl of stew was set in front of him as Lynet's mother said gently, "He was killed three years ago by bandits."

Alistair felt his face begin to burn. "I… apologize. I didn't know."

"How could you?" The woman smoothed his hair back from his forehead, though it still stuck up in wild bits there. "Now, don't worry about it anymore." She sat down across from the two children, putting her own bowl down, and after a brief prayer of thanksgiving, she picked up her spoon and began to eat. Alistair and Lynet followed.

"Alistair's not a bit afraid of the horses, Mama," Lynet said suddenly. "He walks around them all the time and checks their hooves and everything. I think I would be very scared to be in a stall with one of them – they're so big!"

"Well, I'd not want to be someone they don't like – they can trample people to death. Some of the bigger horses are trained to do that if their rider's attacked," he said, swallowing his mouthful of stew. "But they're like anyone else – treat them with a bit of kindness and they're gentle enough."

He hardly noticed it, but as he and Lynet chatted, her mother occasionally asked a question of him – as if he were a big, grown-up man instead of a stable boy.

The boy was mannerly, bright and capable, Alma noted, and seemed to find eating at table with companions and conversation a novel thing. Her heart ached at how careful his answers were, as if he were dreading making another mistake – or being punished. Such a shame he was exiled to the stables – he certainly was quick enough to take a more complex trade than that – and one that wasn't so hard on him.

"How old are you, lad?" Alma found herself asking.

"Eight, ma'am," he replied promptly, and his eyes grew wide at her faint frown. Eight? Surely the boy was not getting enough to eat were he this slight. Alma tore another piece of bread from the loaf and handed it to him with a smile. "Eight! Why, you're practically grown!"

He chuckled, shrugging. "Thank you, but I know I'm smaller than other boys my age."

"Height doesn't necessarily mean grown," she said.

"That's true," Lynet added. "I've known some great big babies who were taller than me." A fierce gleam came into her eye, and he didn't doubt she was remembering that village boy she'd made cry.

"Lynet," her mother said sternly.

After supper, both children got a small bowl into which some bread soaked with warm milk and honey had been crumbled, and Lynet looked surprised. It wasn't every day that she got such a treat.

When the boy had finished, he stood politely, taking his dishes over to the washbasin and putting them in carefully. He faced Alma, rubbing his hand back through his hair self-consciously. "Thanks for supper," he said, "I really enjoyed being here with you."

The thought of him going back to that barn pricked Alma's heartstrings a bit, and she said, "Alistair?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I'd need to talk to the stable master, mind you, but… Lynet and I have enjoyed your company. Would you like to come eat with us from time to time?"

As the poor boy stood there, looking stunned, Lynet grabbed his hand. "Oh, DO say yes! Mama and I have practically run out of things to talk about – it'd be ever so nice to have you come back. Say you will, pleeeeaaaase?"

He blushed. "Well, if the stable master says so," he said shyly.

Alma smiled, then glanced out the window. "It's getting late," she said reluctantly. "Best you head on back before your master comes looking."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." With one last wistful look at Lynet, the warm and comforting fire, and her mama, he spun and sprinted out the door, back towards the stables.


	3. Extending a Helping Hand

Lynet was frowning as she took a deep breath and counted to ten just around the corner from the doors to the stables. A couple of the older boys were bothering Alistair, and as much as Lynet wanted to charge in and tell them off, she knew that would only make things worse for her friend.

"What'd you do to get kicked out of the castle, bastard?" one of them jeered. "Weren't quite housebroken?"

Lynet didn't hear Alistair's reply, but she did hear someone get pushed, hard, against the wall of the barn. Good idea or not, she wasn't going to stand around and wait until they finished beating him.

Lynet skipped around the corner of the barn, hoping that it wouldn't look like she'd been waiting to pounce, and with a worried look, went up to the biggest boy. He had Alistair backed against the side of the barn, and at least twice Alistair's reach.

"My kitty's stuck up a tree," she whined, tugging at the boy's sleeve. "Please, can you come get her down?"

The boy turned to look at her. "I don't have time to follow a little girl around," he blustered. "I have more important things to do!"

Lynet pushed her lower lip out, and looked up with sad, sad eyes while Alistair gave her a sharp look. "Please, ser? I'm not big enough to get her down myself…"

"I _told_ you, I have important chores to do!" he said rudely, and went to push her.

"JARVON!" The stable master's voice cut through the air almost like a sword, and the boy froze, his fingers inches from her shoulder. "You _certainly_ have better things to do than pushing little girls. Perhaps _pushing a fork and mucking the stalls as you were supposed to do_ would be a more appropriate use for your time!"

The stable master, Gareth, was a huge man, for all that he moved quietly. As Jarvon moved off, blushing, to muck the stalls and his friend Berton followed, the stable master winked at Lynet. "I think young Alistair here would be able to help you find your kitten, young miss." he rumbled. "You need a light, nimble lad for tree climbing – not a heavy-handed oaf."

Lynet dropped a quick curtsey. "Thank you, ser," she said, and looked over at Alistair, who was giving her an unreadable look. "Please, ser, will you come help me find my kitten?"

He nodded slowly, and started to walk toward her.

Gareth spoke quietly. "Off with you, now. Be back no later than two marks before sundown."

Alistair's eyes widened slightly at this freedom. "Yes, Ser. Thank you, Ser."

* * *

Lynet and Alistair walked away from the barn, and when they'd got far enough away that they couldn't be heard, he said to her quietly, "I know you don't have a kitten."

"Not yet," Lynet said longingly, "but if one of the barn cats has a litter, Mama says maybe I could get one."

"Look," he said, stopping to face her, "I appreciate what you were trying to do… really, I do. But I have to learn to fight them myself or they'll never leave me alone."

Lynet's green eyes turned stormy. "Then _fight_ them."

He sighed in exasperation. "Bit difficult when their reach is so much longer than mine – Jarvon can hold me against the barn and punch me without me being able to reach him."

Lynet's face scrunched into a full scowl. "That coward," she said.

Alistair sighed. "Well, at least Ser's given me the afternoon off. Let's make the most of it."

* * *

Lynet swung her feet over the edge of the footbridge in town. "There must be _something_ we can think of," she said.

"Other than beating him with a stick." Alistair chuckled.

Lynet stopped dead, and turned to look at Alistair. "What… what did you just say?"

"I said, 'other than beating him with a stick,'" he repeated. "Why?"

Lynet grinned. "You're brilliant," she said with a laugh, and got up. "Come on!"

* * *

"So, we're going to do laundry, and the power of our sparkling whites will drive them off?"

Lynet had handed Alistair one of the long poles she used to remove linens from the hot water in the laundry room, and she chuckled. "No, silly, but look – that extends your reach, doesn't it?"

"So I'm to carry around your laundry pole with me," he said slowly. "And this will..."

She grabbed another one, and like a flash, she'd jabbed one end out and rapped his knuckles.

"Ow! Hey!"

Lynet grinned. "Haven't you watched the guards practicing sometimes? They use pikes, partisans and bills, sometimes. _These_ don't have a blade, but we're not trying to KILL anyone, right?"

Alistair shook his head. "No, I've never watched them practice… being down in the sta—"

Lynet had gone for another jab, with the other side of the pole, and like a flash, Alistair had blocked it – holding his two hands wide apart on the pole.

Lynet's green smiling eyes met his amber ones.

He grinned slowly, then said, "You're on!"

* * *

They had practiced secretly for a couple of weeks, until her mother wondered why the poles she used for washing day were getting so dented up and catching on the clothes. That had led to a scolding, and to several days of her and Alistair sanding the poles smooth again.

Lynet was coming to the stables to ask if Alistair could come to dinner when she heard Jarvon jeer, "Hey, bastard," and then heard a thump against the wall.

She froze.

"Don't," she heard Alistair say, and she hurried to watch from the door.

Alistair was standing up against the wall of a loose stall, a rake in his hands. He was looking at Jarvon calmly, the rake held loosely in both hands.

"Did you just say 'don't' to me, bastard?" Jarvon went to box Alistair's ear.

Quick as a flash, the handle of the rake came up and smacked the older boy across the knuckles, knocking the hand away before it reached his ear.

"Ow!" Jarvon yelped, then tried to rush in to knock Alistair down.

The smaller boy stepped to the side, and jabbed the rake between the Jarvon's feet and twisted, dumping the older boy into the hay. Before he could react, Alistair twirled the rake and placed the head of it flat against Jarvon's chest.

"Do you yield?" Alistair asked formally.

Jarvon's answer was to try to scramble to his feet; a shove against his chest with the back of the rake head shoved him flat again.

"Do you yield, sirrah?"

Jarvon growled and tried again… only to be dumped again.

"I yield, damn you!" he snapped. This time Alistair let him up.

Lynet grinned, watching as Jarvon stalked off and Alistair, thinking himself alone, twirled the rake before getting back to spreading hay in the stalls.


	4. An Uncommon Common Girl

"So you needed a boy to help get your kitten out of a tree," Alistair asked.

Lynet and he were sitting up high in the branches of an oak, screened from view. She was leaning back against the trunk, taking another bite from her apple while he straddled the branch a few feet away from her.

"Well, yeah. _Girls_ can't _climb_," she said with a very unladylike snort.

Alistair chuckled.

"Besides, cats caught up trees tend to be rather frightened. I'd rather not be the one to get scratched." She gave him another of those wicked grins of hers.

For a girl, Alistair decided, Lynet was pretty good. She could throw rocks nearly as far as he could, she was as fast as he in a footrace, she was a demon at tag because she had a way of reversing direction that he could never quite duplicate. She swam, but only when she wore a set of breeches and a shirt like he did, which she couldn't get her hands on often. She liked fishing with him well enough, and didn't expect him to hook her worms.

He was glad enough she'd come to ask him to dinner those months ago.

Alma had been very good to him as well. She always asked after him, and if his breeches needed mending, she'd hand him a pair of oversized ones while she mended his. And she always had something for a hungry and growing boy to eat. He tried not to take advantage of her kindness too often, but rare was the time he could walk away from her home without at least an apple or a roll in his pocket.

"Alistair…" Lynet said seriously.

It made him nervous when she was serious. It didn't happen often, and whatever answer she sought was guaranteed to upset him. Hoping she'd be distracted, he pointed at a cloud. "Oh, doesn't _that_ one look like a mabari's head?"

"Alistair."

He sighed. Like a mabari, once _she_ had her jaws into something, she didn't let go. "Yes, Lynet?"

She bit her lip. "Mother said I shouldn't ask, but she wouldn't tell me what it meant, either. Why do those big boys call you a… a bastard?"

Alistair felt his face and ears burning.

"I mean, you're quite a nice person, and you're not mean, or bad, or stupid, or a cheat or…."

"They mean I have no father," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"Well, neither do I," she said, frowning. "Am I a bastard, too?"

He shook his head. "Your… parents were married. Your father just ...died, you know? Mine… mine wasn't married to my mother, and…. and never admitted I was his son."

Lynet's nose scrunched up as she pondered this. "But why not? You're a good person – Mama says you're a fine boy and she'd be proud to have a son like you."

He looked away. "Your mother is very kind. Most people don't want anything with me – or let their kids have anything to do with me."

"They're stupid!" Lynet said decisively.

He shook his head, staring at the ground far below. "Most people think my mother was a… a bad person. For not being married, and having me. It's a sin. And… they think _I'm_ a bad person because I'm the _result_ of that sin."

"But that's not fair!" she cried. "You didn't have any say in any of it!"

He looked over at her, finally, and saw that Lynet's face had gone as red as his felt, and she looked as if she might cry, too. "It's not fair," she said again more softly, and she leaned forward to take his hand.

"Lynet," he said gravely, holding her hand. He pondered telling her it was all right – but it wasn't really. It hurt when people called him that… it hurt whether they said it when they didn't think he heard, or when they said it directly to him to hurt him.

It especially hurt when _Arlessa Isolde_ said it. Because after _she_ said it enough times, he was sent to live in the horse barn. And even _now_, when he led out her horse for her, she made no bones about not wanting to associate with bastard stable boys.

"It doesn't matter!" Lynet said fiercely, breaking into his thoughts. "I don't care _what_ they say, you're still Alistair. _Just_ Alistair! And you're my best friend."

"_Just_ Alistair, huh?" He smiled in spite of himself.

"Just Alistair is quite a lot to be!" she insisted.

"As my lady says," he said jokingly, brushing the backs of her fingers with his lips the way he'd seen noblemen do to their ladies.

Lynet giggled and pulled her hand away. "Quit it, that tickles."

"As my lady commands."

"Alistair," Lynet said quietly, "I'm no lady. I'm just a common girl."

"Trust me when I tell you this," he said with a grin, gripping his branch and swinging under it like a daring young primate, "you're a very UNcommon girl."

She watched as he wriggled down and started climbing back down out of the tree. She followed, hugging the trunk as she worked her way down. "If I'm UNcommon, then that means I am NOT common, which means I am a noble…."

"Quite so, my lady," he teased.

"Well, if _I'm_ a lady, _you_ must be a prince!" she shot back.

He smiled wistfully, taking her hand as she met him at the bottom of the tree. "As you wish, my lady…."


	5. Give a Guy Some Warning, Will Ya?

"May I, Ser?" Alistair was asking quietly. He'd learned over this past year after he was sent to live in the stables that the stablemaster, Gareth, was a kind man – even if he was very firm and had very hard hands when an out-of-line boy needed a reminder.

Alistair had only been on the receiving end of one swat – and that was because his woolgathering had taken him into the path of a stallion maddened with lust. The arlessa's jennet was in season at the opposite end of the barn and although it was making the intact males tetchy, the arlessa refused to have her jennet removed to a further, more isolated spot 'in case I need her'. When Alistair had gone to muck the stallion's stall, he'd been met with snapping teeth and a rearing fury. Gareth had charged in, waving his arms in the stallion's face and shouting to draw its attention as Alistair bolted from the box.

It had been sheer luck that he'd got out safely and Gareth had smacked him once, hard, on the bottom, yelling at Alistair to be more mindful of what he was doing. That swat and scolding had hurt Alistair's feelings more than they'd actually _pained_ him, and it was shortly after he stopped feeling sorry for himself and thought it over that he realized that Gareth had been _terrified_ for him and had put himself between Alistair and serious danger. The stablemaster didn't involve himself when the boys squabbled – except to interrupt with more chores – but when Alistair thought of it, Gareth had very quietly allowed him a bit more freedom than was strictly necessary. That wasn't to mention how often he let Alistair go off to dinner at Alma's.

Would the Arl and Arlessa approve of this friendship? No one knew. Neither noble asked after their ward, and so Gareth never told them anything more than that he was a fine lad, working hard. But it was clear that the boy was thriving now – putting on a bit more weight, and certainly happier now that he had a bit of human companionship.

"Go on." Gareth's eyes had twinkled as Alistair looked down into the hay. "Pick a good 'un for 'er, boy."

* * *

When Lynet and Alma returned home from the laundry, rumpled and sweaty, they had not expected to see Alistair sitting beside their front door. As Lynet ran toward her friend, he struggled to his feet, grinning, his arms wrapped curiously around his middle instead of being used to help him push himself to his feet.

"Alistair, what are you doing here?" Lynet asked, even as Alma admonished, "Now how is that any way to greet a friend?"

"Alistair's not a _friend_," Lynet scoffed, "he's just, well _Alistair_." She skidded to a stop a few feet away, her face creased with worry. "Do you have a tummyache? Why are you hugging yourself like that?"

"I'd like you to meet someone," he said, grinning widely. He stepped closer to Lynet, then carefully reached down the neck of his shirt, then placed something into her arms. "Here."

Lynet looked down, stunned, when a soft, silky little face rubbed against her chin. She looked down to see a small kitten with amber eyes looking up at her. It was mostly white, but had brown, orange-striped, black and grey splotches on its body, along with a tabby-striped orange top of the head and one black ear and a black nose. Its tail and hind legs were also tabby orange, and just under its chin was a spot that looked like someone had spilt hot café with milk.

"Ohhhhh," she said in wonder. The kitten patted her face with one white paw with pink pads. "Oh, she's darling! She's so beautiful! What's her name?"

"She hasn't got one yet," he said gravely. "I thought you should name her… since she's yours."

Lynet's eyes widened, and she looked at Alma pleadingly. "Oh, _can_ we, Mama? Can we?"

Alma looked from her daughter to Alistair, who was standing there scuffing the dirt with his toe nervously, and her heart melted. She had promised Lynet a kitten at some point, and this was one of the few things, she suspected, that Alistair could do for his friend. She couldn't bear to refuse either of them. "She'll take a lot of looking after," she said warningly.

"I will! I'll take good care of her, Mama, I promise, and Alistair will too, won't you?" She turned, grinning from ear to ear.

"I guess I could help with that. I'm pretty good with animals." He smiled shyly.

"Well then, Alma said, ruffling Alistair's hair, "What are you going to name her? She's got such striking fur…."

"Patches," Lynet said decisively, hugging the kitten. "Her name is Patches!"

"She'll be a good mouser when she's older, Ma'am," Alistair said to Alma. "Her mum's one of the best mousers in the barn."

"So she'll earn her keep!" Lynet said with a grin.

Alma smiled inwardly at her daughter's excitement, but there was one thing she needed to do. "You know, little bird…. I don't think I've heard a proper thank you anywhere in there…."

Lynet's eyes grew wide with dismay. "Oh, I'm sorry Mama!"

"It's not me you should say sorry to – or thank."

Lynet turned to Alistair, leaned forward impulsively, and kissed him on the forehead. "Oh, thank you, THANK you, Alistair! This is the best present _ever_!"

Alistair took a step back, stunned, and put his hand to his forehead for a moment – then he blushed clear to his roots. "Hey, give a guy some warning, will ya?" he said, then grinned.


End file.
